


At the Farmers Market

by AxmxZ (Boanerges)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Hannibal crack, Hannibal is hipster!Hannibal, Humor, M/M, Will is English, badfic prompt, because why not, hipster AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 06:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4655481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boanerges/pseuds/AxmxZ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meet Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham, hipsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Farmers Market

**Author's Note:**

> gwahop asked: badfic prompt: au where will and hannibal run opposing stalls in a farmers market. they stare at each other from across the market, eyes narrowed, and make passive-aggressive comments about the quality of each other's produce (whatever that may be) whenever they walk by each other's stalls. will says "you wanna go mate" at least once ~bonus~ hannibal replies with "on a date?? yeah" (i'm so sorry)
> 
> Check out my tumblr at http://axmxz.tumblr.com - mostly Hannibal most of the time

NOTE: Will was being a little shit, so Hannibal ended up being the one to say “You wanna go mate?”

============================================================================

The new boy at the stall next to his - “Katz Farms Organic Apiary” - was almost annoyingly pretty.

He also stood so still, and his curly head drooped so low on his chest, that he seemed to be asleep on his feet.

When customers stopped to ask whether his honey was nut-free, dairy-free, soy-free, sugar-free, or gluten-free, he would just push forward one of the jars.

“It’s all on the label,” he would say, perfectly audible from where Hannibal was standing. “Eight bucks. Three for twenty.”

If the customer attempted a follow-up question, the boy withdrew to the back of the tent to root through a large cooler that reeked of fish. Left on their own, the customer would usually shrug and leave. Only one young lady took three jars, scribbling something on the bill before leaving it on the counter - presumably her phone number.

"Not one for bantering with the customers?" asked Hannibal when the customer traffic thinned out at lunch.

The boy turned his head and stared at him. He looked a bit like Saint Sebastian after a bender.

Hannibal reached for his distressed-barn-wood hip flask. “Hair of the dog?”

Something came alive in the boy’s bloodshot sea-green eyes.

"Dog?" he asked, as though by reflex.

Hannibal sloshed the flask provocatively.

The boy leaned over and took it without thanks. His gaze flicked over Hannibal’s herringbone waistcoat and the tunnel plug in his right ear but avoided his eyes.

"Nice plug," he muttered, putting the flask to his mouth.

"Thank you. A friend of mine upstate makes them from deer bones."

The boy kept on chugging.

"Your outfit is becoming."Hannibal nodded at the boy’s red flannel shirt. “‘Lumbersexual’, as they say…"

The boy cringed and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Hannibal was mildly distressed to note that slovenliness failed to make him any less pretty.

“Fishersexual,” handing the flask back. It was empty.

"Pardon?"

"I’m a fisherman. My uncle Jack operates a 50 foot Hatteras Sportfish out of Huntington."

The boy had a charming English accent.

"Oh? And what do you do for uncle Jack?" said Hannibal, clicking the final ‘k’. It sounded creepy even to him, and he resolved not to do it again.

"I’m the mate."

"Well, I'm pleased to meet you, mate. I’m Hannibal."

"My name’s Will."

"You look like you had a boisterous night, Will."

"And you look like a slippery dick I once caught in Florida," said Will.

Hannibal’s pale eyebrows started on a valiant but doomed ascent over the mountain range of his brow.

"It’s a kind of fish," Will elucidated. "There being very few actual disembodied penises floating around Florida Keys."

There was a pause.

"What an oddly rude thing to say to someone," said Hannibal. "Especially after guzzling all their Bushmills. And here I thought Brits were supposed to be polite."

"Well, you know what they say about supposing."

"Oh? What?"

"Makes you a suppository."

"You best get back to watching your wares,” said Hannibal, stepping back towards his counter. “I presume Beverly put you there to keep her stock safe from customers, given how reluctantly you part with it?”

"As if your stuff sells any better," snorted Will. “‘Hannibal Lecter’s Nibbles and Delectables’ my delectable nipples. It’s like a butcher’s threw up - nothing but offal!"

"Organs have a more complete nutritional profile than muscle meats," said Hannibal frostily. "And my clientele is very loyal - they just come later in the day."

"What, after dark? Because they’re all serial killers and vampires?"

Hannibal did not dignify the jab with a reply. Unlike the boy, he had actual customers to serve.

"Hello, Frederick," he said, smiling at a short man with a cane and a monocle. The smile was parsimonious and insincere. Frederick Chilton came by every week and always asked for exotic meats that were not in stock in a transparent effort to look like a seasoned foodie.

"Any tongue today, Hannibal?"

"Of course. Beef and pork."

"Ah, pity. I was hoping for lamb."

"Not this time, I’m afraid. But I seem to recall you telling me last week that your yoga circle was doing a vegan month?" asked Hannibal.

"Ah… yes! We are. It’s for a friend."

"Would your friend perhaps care for some beaver instead?"

Will snorted audibly in his stall.

"Beaver?" asked Frederick.

"Yes. _Castor canadensis_. A friend of mine upstate traps them on his property.”

"This upstate friend of yours sounds like a remarkably resourceful fellow," remarked Will.

"What does beaver taste like?" Frederick wondered.

"Beef, more or less. I usually make _bebrienos troškinys_ , a Lithuanian stew with carrots, onions, and mushrooms. Usually nuts and flour as well, though I personally prefer to minimize potential allergens. But you can just cube it and fry it. There is beauty in simplicity."

"I think I’ll pass," said Frederick doubtfully. "Just the usual pickles."

Hannibal exchanged some jars for an ubiquitous twenty. “Here we are: green tomatoes, half-sours, and watermelon rinds.”

"You should buy some blood, too," said Will. "He’s got liter jars with blood stacked in the back. Never know when you might need a transfusion."

"It’s beet kvass," said Hannibal through his teeth.

"Well, it looks vile."

"Now, now. One can grow to love beets," said Frederick, receiving his change.

"At least my wares don’t smell like fish and dog vomit," said Hannibal, facing Will once Frederick was out of ear shot. "Unlike your honey."

"Piss off."

"It’s not Beverly’s fault, of course. It’s yours. You are by far the foulest smelling creature I ever encountered. I've dived in New Jersey dumpsters that smelled better than you."

"Conceited git."

"Insolent child."

"Trout-face."

"Take that back _immediately_.”

"Glub glub."

"Oh, that is it.” Hannibal pulled off his blood-smeared apron and went nose-to-nose with Will. “You wanna go mate?!” he hissed, forgetting the vocative comma.

"God yes," husked Will wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s neck. "Let’s go mate. In fact, let's get married in a barn with fairy lights, and have a klezmer band play at our wedding."

There was a brief pause as Hannibal re-evaluated his life goals.

"I only listen to late-Soviet protest rock and [warabe-uta](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Warabe_uta)," he said finally. "But the rest of it sounds agreeable."

He flipped open his silver-filigree pocket watch. “We have half an hour before the post-lunch rush. The Whole Foods on 14th has very nice toilet stalls. Lots of room to operate.”

"Sounds like you've operated there before,” remarked Will.

Hannibal smiled his most enigmatic micro-smile.

"By the way, I changed my mind," said Will as they walked through the park arm in arm. "You don’t look like a slippery dick. Or a trout."

"Oh? What do I look like then?"

"[Sailor’s choice](http://safmc.net/fish-id-and-regs/sailors-choice-0)."


End file.
